


correlation of fondness

by WeAreTomorrow



Series: What Are We If Not Liars? [1]
Category: Ocean's Eleven (2001)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:26:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreTomorrow/pseuds/WeAreTomorrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny attempts to start an honest life with Tess. </p><p>It's not working.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Danny: Part One

XXX

 

_…the farther you go, the louder I miss you…_

XXX

  

The day before his first day of work he calls Rusty.

 

They talk about nothing at all, pretty words and punchlines to jokes they wouldn't usually laugh at, careful to avoid the subject of what Rusty's is up to. But from what Danny can tell he's in Canada working a long con with Saul and some old-timers; the outline of the plan comes into focus behind his closed eyes that night when he should be sleeping.

 

He's so jealous it hurts.

 

Every week since, it’s the same thing. They lie and laugh and don't talk about work.

 

Danny buys a map and tracks Rusty's movements around the world. From Hawaii to South Carolina to Europe and all the way back to Hollywood.

 

But never anywhere near Cincinnati, Ohio.

 

( _It’s not jealousy this time_.)

 

XXX

 

The first day is the hardest.

 

On the first day he throws up in the bathroom after four hours of it. The overwhelming smell of coffee. The smiling people. The cubicle.

 

Five by five feet of utter hell. He'd never thought of himself of a bad person, quite the opposite in fact, but he must've done something to deserve this. A cubical was not something he had bargained for and not something he would stand for; he has limitations, has principles and uncrossed lines. It doesn't take him long to track down the boss and convince him there's some kind of terrible mistake. There are some things he won't let happen without a fight.

 

Working in an office at all used to be one of them.

 

His boss coughs up apologies, telling him that they have a shortage of building space ( _he glances around the office and says nothing_ ) and usually only the most senior employees—

 

( _He waits for Rusty to jump in before remembering_.)

 

Danny caught off balance, unsuspecting, like going up a staircase only to find that the final step is missing. The pause stretches to breaking, his boss waiting awkwardly for his eyes to focus, for an answer, the _yeah it's no problem, thank you for your consideration_ that never comes before apologizing again. Of course, they'll gladly make an exception for him, Mr. Wasser.

 

They share a stifling elevator ride together, heavy with silence. Danny has to attend two buisness dinners and a baseball game before he erases this first experience from his boss' memory, replacing it completely with who he meant to be.

 

The man who answers the office door— _Adam Simmons_ , he introduces himself nervously, stumbling over the syllables of his own name—is tall, taller then Danny but hunches his shoulder in a way that makes him easy to overlook. His eyes under his receding hairline are a pleasant brown but flit anxiously around the room, a cornered animal as he closes the door behind them.

 

Something about the man gives him goose bumps.

 

Danny offers up his best reassuring smile, his own eyes sweeping the room. Adam's desk is stacked with boxes, as is the rest of the office; he must've just been moved in. A single window looks out onto the street outside. A constant reminder of where he is. But it's better then nothing. Over the street and between the greedy fingers of skyscraper buildings is a small square of blue sky. Yes, definitely better.

 

His boss ( _he can't get used to these words, these ideas: he has a boss, he is an employee_ ) pats Adam on the back in what Danny is sure he thinks is a sympathetic manner and tells him not to bother unpacking.

 

Adam's head snaps up to look at them; the instant his eyes meet Danny he looks back down at the floor.

 

But it's too late. Panic, plain and simple.

 

It seems he's not the only one who spends his lunch break throwing up in the bathroom.

 

( _And whatever else he is, he's not a bad person.)_

 

XXX

 

It's been three weeks. The overwhelming smell of coffee. The smiling people. The cubicle.

 

The first day might be the hardest but it sure as hell doesn't get any better.

 

XXX

 

He comes home to her refurbishing the house. Again.

 

Shaking his head, biting his lip against the sharp edges of exasperation, he asks her why she insisted on a house—“A place for us. Something that's ours."—if he's not going to recognize it every other week he comes home.

 

"I had just gotten used to the fish too."

 

Tess ignores his half-hearted ( _half-hearted, yes, somehow that fits_ ) attempt at humor.

 

"It just doesn't work," she sighs, frustrated, hands smeared with paint, hair in disarray and nose scrunched the way it always is when she's trying hard to understand something.

 

Another time, another place he would've kissed her. Would've let the paintbrush fall from her hand and the briefcase from his. He would've made love to her gently on the shiny-new floor, worshipping her body with his hands.

 

But this is here, this is now.

 

He is a respectable man coming home from work with more of the same to finish for tomorrow. He is a man who smiles half-heartedly ( _that word again, but yes it fits, it fits_ ) at his also respectable wife and drags his tired body to bed. This man who came home is not who he once was; it's Daniel Wasser.

 

Respectable. Reliable. Hard-working. A good citizen.

 

( _Tired. Listless. Ageing. Half-hearted_.)

 

He lies in bed and looks up at the purple ceiling –"It matches the new curtain fringes, Danny, honestly didn't you notice?" –and wishes the transitional phase between land and water were easier  _(he doesn't notice anymore, and it scares him_ ). He can't breathe right and maybe he isn't an amphiban, okay? His body aches and he wishes, well, pause, fast forward through the unfinished thought with the ease of practice. The human mind can adapt to anything with enough practice. He read that in the newspaper once, so it must be true.

 

Tess snuggles up in bed next to him, whispering something in his ear.

 

"I love you, Danny."

 

He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep.

 

XXX

 

"So," he asks, "What's her name?"

 

Danny wonders later if he shouldn't know; if he shouldn't recognize the way Rusty's voice sounds after sex, low and rolling his vowels more then usual. He's never looked up the definition of 'best friend' and sometimes he suspects he doing it wrong.

 

He doesn't get a name anyway, so it doesn't actually matter.

 

( _It does_.)

 

XXX

 

He never thought it would be easy. Okay, so that’s a lie.

 

He'd expected it to come naturally, as easy to accept as any of Tess's other quirks. ( _Rules_.)

 

Danny takes his shoes off before coming inside, doesn't give her things that have been stolen or anything too expensive unless it's a special occasion, doesn't invite known felons to stop by, doesn't make fun of the neighbor's rat-faced dog, doesn't go to bed too late on Sunday because he has work the next morning, he doesn't, doesn't, _doesn't_.

 

It's not that he disagrees, it's just. The principle of things. He has an instinctive, allergic reaction to being constricted.

 

They arrived with the moving vans and within hours are invited to their first of many neighborhood barbecues. Danny eats his first hotdog since graduating college, casually adopting the sprawled posture of the other husbands. He spins outlandish tales of office mishaps, delighting in the new audience as he always does, and Tess rolls her eyes, the women grinning at her knowingly.

 

Men: can't live with them, can't leave without them.

 

At the fifth barbecue, it stops being fun. After the sixth, his stories are no longer interesting but he's too tired to shut up, or maybe, still too full of pride. After he's lost count, on a lawn with fake grass implants around the back porch, he realizes his adoring audience consists of petty gossips and dissatisfied wives. One of them puts a hand on his ass and Tess remembers that she has an important art gallery deadline the next morning.

 

The drive back is tense, not because of suspicions but because they've run out of things to talk about.

 

In the end it boils down to this: Wife. House. Job. Car. 

 

He repeats it over and over again in his head as if afraid he'll forget and do something like—like rob a bank.

 

Because robbing banks is a very wrong, very bad thing to do. ( _Or so people keep telling him; why? Probably because its fun._ )

 

Anyway it's not like he needs the money. Or the thrill of the con. Or anything else reminescent of the joy, of the awe in immaculate conception as the con unfolds like oragami paper into reality ( _maybe it's not immaculate, he always has help_ ). He has a job to keep his mind occupied; he'll be the first to admit working in the office takes some getting used to but that doesn't mean he won't. It just takes time, he's sure. Besides, he’s a model citizen now, upholding the American values of hard work and dedication.

 

And honesty, don’t forget.

 

As to the thrill of the con, the adrenaline and otherwise, well, he has his new golfing friend. And his office buddies. And his barbecues. 

 

And it's so easy to give up. He wants to fold, to call his own bluff. But Tess is what he's playing for and does it matter what he is putting into the pot for that, what he's gambling away? No ( _yes_ ). His Tess, the one he fought for, the one who exists here with this version of him, this dimension and nowhere else.

 

His wife, whom he loves enough to trade in a life of rubik cubes, of color and questions. He really believes that with Tess he can build a new life; a happy one with a rose garden and taxes that are, for once, actually paid. He even wants this life, wants to make it work. So he'll play the misery close to his chest, keep playing the cards as the stakes are raised, one office floor at a time.

 

He loves Tess, okay?

 

( _One thing he admits to, though, is missing Rusty_.)

 

XXX

 

 

Lunch the following week.

 

Danny is hiding from his co-worker buddies in the bathroom; the third stall from the left that always flushes twice ( _yes, he knows this place pretty well now_ ) and is surprised by Adam.

 

"'Lo." He says pleasantly, pretending to dry his hands off. Adam smiles at him, or tries to.

 

"Thanks." He says, hands playing with the edges of his tie, "For not, you know."

 

Danny nods, unsure of what to say; it's happening more often lately and that is either a good sign or a bad one. They stand there in awkward silence, Adam shifting from side to side and Danny watching him, calculating. Scrambling for something to say.

 

( _This is where you step in, wait, never mind_.)

 

With a final nervous tug of his tie Adam nods once and leaves. They never talk again.

 

XXX

 

 

"So. I was thinking I should come and visit you next month since I'm in the area."

 

The word 'yes' burns his throat on the way up, ascending too fast like reverse gravity, almost before he can stop it. Heat rises, as do wishes. Rusty hopefully can't taste the desperation on the other side, or the helplessness. He catches Tess looking at him in the window reflection and swallows the promises he hasn't broken yet. Things haven’t been so great lately. In fact, they’ve been pretty bad.

 

( _There’s been a series of mysterious break-ins in the neighborhoods, nothing stolen_.)

 

Tess hasn’t talked to him all day and he feels sick. He's lost weight, lost interest, lost the direction he was so sure was the right one. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard, you know? It wasn’t supposed to feel so much like, not conquering an addiction, but trying to breathe in water. Transition phases, remember?

 

"Sorry Rus'," his voice sounds brittle and fake, "But next month probably won't work out. Work stuff, you know."

 

A choked laugh. Him or Rusty?

 

Then the beeping of the phone line. Danny stares at it in shock.

 

Rusty doesn't hang up on people, not him, never.  No, probably the power lines were cut. It can't be a storm, he was in South Carolina. Had they paid the bills? Yes, he was sure of that. These things matter in this dimension, apparently. Was Rusty in trouble, did someone jump him unexpectedly, knock the phone out of his hands?

 

He calls back. Once. Twice.

 

"Hello, this is Rus'. Leave a message and we'll try and get back to you. Bye."

 

Breathless laughter in the background, shushing noises, more laughter and the sound of a lock clicking.

 

( _Yeah, he remembers that_.)

 

Tess comes up to him, face as blank as she can manage ( _not at all_ ) and asks casually:

 

"So is Rusty coming by?"

 

"No."

 

He doesn't look at her, doesn’t need to. She smiles at him, the first time since she heard about the break-ins. It's like a storm clearing, happiness breaking over her face like sunshine and this should be victory, this is him surviving another round. This is him winning, this is victory, this is a bluff not being called, a mask not crumbling, cards clutches tighter than ever.

 

“I was thinking, maybe we could go out for dinner tonight?” Tess asks, shyly, looking down as her paint-splattered nails, “Relax for an evening?”

 

She smiles up at him, warm and innocent. Genuinely relieved.

 

“I’d love to,” He says and ignores the way his smile stretches like plastic. 

 

XXX

 

They go out to dinner and get drunk on over-priced wine.

 

Giggling like horny teenagers, they can’t keep their hands off of each other. Danny feels something inside of him loosening, something clicking back into place. When they go back past midnight, in a cab no less, it feels, for the first time, like he’s coming home.

 

Tess kisses him.

 

“Sorry,” she says, “I know this is hard for you.”

_So is cutting off your arm,_ he wants to say, _but people still do it when they have to._

 

Instead Danny kisses her back, long and hard, because he doesn’t think she would understand exactly what he means. Mostly, because there are things that he doesn’t like to say out loud.

 

( _It’s not a lie if you tell it to yourself_.)

 

Besides, they have fucking amazing make-up sex. When Danny wakes up the next morning, a hangover draped over him like the arm of a good friend, he can't help but smile. For the first time in a while, since eleven shades of wall and six kinds of window blinds ago, he feels alive. His nerve ends tingle as he presses a kiss into the hollow of her throat.

 

Tess wakes up, and groans.

 

“Stupid,” She says, cradling her head, “That was stupid of us. Irresponsible.”

 

( _Why? Probably because it was fun.)_

 

She pops an aspirin, kisses him on the cheek and leaves for work.

 

He lingers in bed, and wonders what Rusty is doing right now. Danny shouldn’t feel guilty for the thought, but he does.

 

XXX

 

The answering machine message has changed.

 

“Hey, this is Rusty. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

 

( _Ouch_.)

 

He should stop calling. Instead, he checks out sick for a week and listens to the dial tone on the other end.

 

Tess doesn’t know. It’s not that he’s lying exactly when he answers her _how was your day_ with a casual _nothing special_. Guilt is like an expensive watch he carries around to check the time.

 

No wait, that’s his phone. They both tell him the same thing anyway.

 

( _You’re fucking up_.)


	2. Chapter 2

XXX

 

_…the farther you go, the louder I miss you…_

 

 

 

XXX

 

He has their anniversary planned out weeks in advance.

 

First, he takes her out on a friend's boat--those office buddies, see, they're not all bad, it's a high standards problem, the converting of friendship from this life into that--where they spend the day together. Even though the air is brisk, it's invigorating instead of unpleasant, like being let out of a cage. The water is crystal-clear blue and still, a flawless mirror.

 

They look beautiful together with their flushed cheeks and tousled hair, his hand at her waist. They were made for this, for these snap-shot moments.

 

When the sun sets over the water, he brings them to a waterside restaurant. They hold hands, laughing and, just like that, everything is okay again. In alignment and Danny can't remember what his doubts were when this is the big picture, sitting across the table from him, slipping off of her heels to brush bare toes against his ankle, thankful and loving and his. Danny feels like the luckiest man alive, as star-struck as the first time he met her.

 

She’s beautiful, a goddess. Dark tumbling curls and a soft smile.

 

Tess orders buttered crab and a glass of water, smiling ruefully. Danny can't stop looking at her.

 

"A glass of red wine, for me. The Zinfandel.”

 

He scans the menu.

 

“Two orders of the cuttlefish cooked in a stew with tomato sauce, one order of the grilled dentex and a lobster, that is a full lobster right? And, let's see, oh yes! A side order of octopus. Actually make that two. We'll order dessert afterward."

 

"We can't eat that much, Danny," Tess says, voice quiet. He stares back at her, confusion rising as he tries to meet her gaze but her eyes skitter away from him, focusing on the empty space behind his shoulder, the lines around her mouth heavy with something that might be wistfulness but maybe not. The loosened knots in his gut tighten as he tries to figure out what he's done wrong.

 

"What?" he asks, lost. "Of course-"

 

He stops. Oh. ( _Stop making this so hard, so counter to all his instincts_.) Still, he presses on stubbornly.

 

"Sailing makes a man hungry."

 

Tess is right, of course. They don't even finish half of it.

 

In fact, Danny can barely choke down a bite.

 

( _He orders dessert anyway_.)

 

They box it and bring it home, the waitress smiling like this is nothing unusual. Tess teases him about big eyes and small stomachs, filling up the silence. She tells him not to feel guilty; they'll finish it up tomorrow so that it doesn't go to waste. In the middle of the night he slips out from under her arm and goes to the kitchen. He sends the dessert to Rusty and throws the rest out.

 

XXX

 

In a recurring nightmare of his, Danny is looking into a mirror.

 

But instead of his reflection, he sees Adam Simmons fidget nervously with his tie as he sits in the back of a courtroom.

 

Beside him, Tess is crying.

 

Rusty turns to look at him from the stand, the prosecutor jabbing a condemning finger at him face; his eyes are blank and distant as they connect with his. _Who are you?_ They ask him.

 

Turning to him, Tess says, " Oh Daniel, aren't you relieved? That could've been you."

 

( _Don’t call him that, please_.)

 

 

They drag a slumped Rusty from the courtroom and he does nothing but tighten his hand around his wife's and nod. In a fit of morbid curiosity, he looks up Adam Simmons online. He used to have brown hair and a wonderful smile.

 

XXX

 

Picnicking with his favorite person in the world, Tess, feeding her strawberry cheesecake on a warm spring Sunday afternoon is certainly not one of the least enjoyable experiences of his life.

 

But only just. Danny is in hell.

 

Or going to it.

 

( _He hasn't decided yet; this is supposed to be heaven but if that's true he'll take his chances.)_

 

He wants this to work out so badly. More then possibly anything in his life. He wants to want this. This suburban husband and wife nightma—dream.

 

But over his wife’s shoulder he can see the delivery truck waiting serenely ( _mockingly_ ) outside of the town hall. Important goods, historic documents and museum pieces to be displayed there during the coming weekend for the town fair.

 

And it's right there. The driver has quickly run to the bathroom, the mayor's people are currently involved in a mini-crisis over where to locate the new Ferris Wheel and even the camera doesn't completely cover the passenger seat angle. It would be so easy, stealing from children easy and, god, he must be desperate for something so easy to make his shiver with excitement.

 

His fingers twitch at the thought. He can almost feel the hard plastic of the steering wheel under his hands. His breath hitches at the sight of the open road in front of them.

 

Sweet escape.

 

He turns to ask Rusty what—

 

"Are you listening to me at all?" Tess snaps, looking hurt.

 

Danny blinks twice, image evaporating. With an apologetic smile, he turns back to his favorite person in the world.

 

XXX

 

The phone rings.

 

"Tess! Phone’s ringing," he yells, eyes not flickering away from the screen for a second.

 

"Well then, why don't you answer it, dearest husband of mine," She answers from behind him, teeth clenched. If he turned around, he would find little half-moon indents in the palms of her hands where she clenches her fists. Tess is repainting again and he wonders if she's mad that he's stopped offering to help but, what's the point really, when next week it'll be painted over anyway. He is vaguely surprised at the iciness of her tone but pauses, fast-forwards.

 

He’s gotten good at that, not caring about the little ( _big_ ) things.

 

Tomorrow means eight hours of his five by five office cubicle. His own personal four walled, coffee stained hell. Sunday is spent on the couch watching re-runs, drinking beer, breathing as shallowly as possible until he sinks into the couch that smells like dish detergent and ceases to exist. Sometimes, it's spent watching a blank screen just trying not to think ( _stopitstopitstop_ ).

 

"It's probably for you," he says evenly. It's never for him, not anymore _(but he's fine with that now, it just takes getting used to_ ).

 

She lingers a moment in icy silence, anger rising form her in unavoidable radio waves. He changes the channel and she stomps away, leaving the smell of paint hanging in the air. He opens his mouth to apologize but stops. Shuts it again.

 

An apology means he's doing something wrong. And he's not.

 

They're fine. More then fine, really, they're normal.

 

 

XXX

 

The man's wallet is right there.

 

Right there.

 

Half-falling out of his back pocket, worn brown leather of low quality. Nothing worth stealing. But when had that ever been the point?

 

He tentatively reaches for it, fingers like sprouts pushing up through the dirt, sunshine warm, all his years of experience ( _days and seconds, endless ones_ ) gone in a heartbeat because his hand is shaking and he's blatantly staring at his prize--the apple or the snake, who knows, he's always sucked at metaphors--despite the fact the mark could easily glance around and catch him in the act.

 

The mark. The words melt like sugar on his tongue.

 

His fingers brush the top of wallet, closing around it. It feels warm to the touch. He is about to softly pull away when a passing light glints off his wedding ring, bouncing back a shattered reflection of himself.

 

And, fuck, he can't do this anymore. He just can't. Later, he realizes he doesn't know what he means.

 

( _Can't con or can't pretend he doesn’t want to?_ )

 

XXX

 

Their first fight, their first real honest-to-god fight, ends in tears and salty kisses.

 

It's stupid, mundane, illogical, really but somehow it seems like one sacrifice too many to make.

 

Their sheets are pink.

 

Fashionably, subtle salmon-pink. But pink. He turns on her and everything that’s gone so wrong between them, soured in the back of the fridge because he didn't know you had to use ceran wrap, okay, he never learned these things, everything that doesn’t fit and chafes at the skin until it’s rubbed red and raw, it comes spilling out, vicious and cold and aimed to hurt.

 

 

"Pink?” Danny laughs, short and humorless.

 

“Finally lost your mind, huh? Do I _look_ like a fucking queer?"

 

And worse, the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth because they're not his words. They're words, insults that Daniel Wasser would use. That an angry, unhappy middle-class businessman would use. And that scares him most of all.

 

He is Danny Ocean.

_Danny_ not Daniel.

 

He wouldn't ever be caught dead doing an honest days work, not unless it's part of the game and even then it's pulled out from under his skin. He would rather throw himself out the window then spent a minute more then necessary in his office prison, his ticking clock the only indication that the world is turning as he looks into the blank, friendly gazes of the people around him. He is so used to life and he doesn't know how to deal with this, cut off from the elements he's made of. He doesn't say 'queer' like that's wrong and 'pink' like that's worse. And he doesn't ever, ever make Tess cry.

 

So he kisses the tears away like it will make everything better and for tonight it's enough.

 

He wakes up in the morning, her curled in his arms, and decides that this part of his life is over.

 

( _The working part_.)

 

XXX

 

The cruise ship is beautiful, romantic and has that sense of _d'élégance royale_ that Tess so loves.

 

The sea air and horrible ‘Mr. & Mrs. Ocean’ jokes help more then they’d dared hope for and they leave just as in love as when they first met. As in love as they were at their one-year anniversary or drunk on too much red wine. As much as they always are when it’s just them with no work, no responsibilities and no clashing realities of domestic happiness.

 

( _It’s not the small things_.)

 

Danny calls in sick again and Tess is surprisingly fine with that. Their sheets are Palatinate Blue and he's stopped wanting to con everyone in sight.

 

( _One lie in there. Can you guess which?_ )

 

During the day his life is on the straight and narrow. During the day, he cooks for Tess and when she comes home from work at the new art gallery there’s a warm bubble bath lying in wait; the one that smells like vanilla. He helps re-do the basement and there’s red paint trapped so far back under his nails that he can’t get it out. During the day, he tries to do something constructive with his time.

 

Last week, on a whim, he applied to be a hotel inspector; the company's meeting with him next month. Maybe he can quit his job for good. So it's not like he's lazing about. He's re-watched all the Cary Grant classics for the fourth time.

 

( _He wants to fucking scream_.)

 

Last night, he had this dream. A happy one that he can’t remember the details of.

 

But then again, he’s never been one for details. Danny is about the idea; he draws his blueprints in watercolors that smear and blur because it’s the colors that matter to him, and the way the white sheets fit the arching curves.

 

The rest is supposed to just fall into place because he wants it, needs it too.

 

( _Because Rusty makes it_.)

 

Wife. House. Job. Car.

 

There’s no room for a best friend in that equation. No room for his shaking hands and the way he waits desperately for Tess to come home, only to avoid her when she is. He reads through all of newspapers, even the sports section, looking for things to talk about. Never about her art gallery, not about the pick up time for the new modern art section or which buyers prefer what and where she keeps the keys, in an empty coffee container, dear god, give me strength. The equation for happiness, for the American dream, it fits him like a choke collar.

 

Badly.

 

XXX

 

Danny runs a finger along the map.

 

Traces a path in-between colored push pins gently, with his eyes closed, weaving back and forth as he goes from Europe to Tokyo, Japan. Knowing Rusty ( _he does, he really does_ ) he probably just stopped by to get some sushi. He tries to remember the last time he followed a whim, did something just because he could, just because he wanted to. And yeah, he stops trying.

 

Danny presses his hand flat against the map in the only space that’s big enough.

 

( _Cincinnati, Ohio_. _Yeah._ )

 

XXX

 

Tess travels overseas for a while, something to do with a gallery centerpiece.

 

Danny orders the cab and books the flight; he even helps her pack up things, folds her socks and puts her underwear in the seperate flap just the way she likes it. He plays the supportive husband role to perfection. Really, he's got it all wrong; he should've been an actor, hands down.

 

Her fingers close around the doorknob, goodbye smile in place, glowing from the inside with excitement for what she's doing, brighter now that she's standing on the threshold of this house that they keep calling home. Pinning her roughly to the wall, he kisses her with white-hot desperation, trying to keep inside all the things he has no right to ask her ( _don’t leave_ ). When he pulls back she looks at him with dawning understanding.

 

“Stay,” Danny says, “Tess, I don’t think I can—”

 

She hugs him. She smells like apples and coconuts and vanilla. He presses his face into her hair and inhales, imprinting the smell into his memory.

 

"You'll be fine, Danny. It'll all work out, you'll see. It’s only a week."

 

She lying and they don't make eye contact when she kisses him gently on the cheek, trying not to leave too eagerly. She's failing and the sound of the car accelerating feels like a sigh of relief. He turns back inside and closes the door. He feels the pressure of the roof over his head, the weight of their unhappiness resting on his shoulders, heavy to breaking point. 

 

He calls in sick ( _his last day_ ). Then he calls Rusty.

 

He just says one thing: _Please._

 

Danny sits in front of a blank TV and counts the hours.

 

When the doorbell rings, he jumps, not because of the noise but because it's ringing in the first place. Opening the door, he tells Rusty that there's no need to—

 

A confused mailman hands him a package addressed to Tess.

 

Back in the living room he stares curiously, wondering who it's from. The return address is international, one he recognizes: a well-known museum. His fingers itch to find out what's inside. Important gallery stuff, most likely. ( _Things he has absolutely no business messing with_.) Maybe he should call her, open it up and let her know what arrived while she escaped early to the same airport he arrived with her, so hopeful, that first day.

 

He sets the package down gingerly and turns the TV on.

 

Rusty finds him like that.

 

Resolutely staring at the screen, eyes never once straying anywhere they shouldn't. He wishes he could say the same for his thoughts.

 

"What'cha watching?"

 

( _Said through a mouthful of green cotton candy. He won't ask. He won't_.)

 

"Green, really?"

 

"It's the color of change."

 

Rusty swings himself over the side of the couch, settling down next to him. Always a little too close, but that's what he needs right now They sit in silence and watch the blank TV. Slowly, inch-by-inch, Danny relaxes, his hands unclench and somehow, without him ( _really_ ) noticing, Rusty's arm has found its way around his shoulders. Always a little too close.

 

Lately, Danny has learned a lot about what he really needs.

 

Rusty takes him out for dinner. Well, Rusty buys Danny food and eats most of it and Danny is left with a guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach because somewhere along the way he stopped ordering extra-large.

 

"So. Talk."

 

As he pours out everything that's been happening the last couple of weeks, Danny distantly thinks Rusty has got it all wrong too. He should've have been a shrink. Then he watches him con their way out of paying the bill and knows that out of the two of them, Rusty is the one who has it completely right.

 

"And tomorrow it starts all over again." He finishes miserably and finds himself fighting back tears.

 

Rusty, thankfully, pretends not to notice. Instead he waits patiently on Danny's front step, looking ridiculously out of place here in this everyday suburban neighborhood, biting into a candy apple with the dedication of a top-notch porn star. Danny’s not completely sure where they found that, actually. Shiny red and dripping liquid sugar.

 

"Why?"

 

Rubbing at his eyes, he snaps, "Because I've used up all my sick days, okay?"

 

Rusty just looks at him.

 

Danny avoids his eyes, opting instead to fumble in his bag for the key. Yes, he has a key now. He opens his mouth to—then closes it again. He should just leave it at that; enough damage has been done tonight. The key, the complaining, the offering to actually pay for the food. Does Rusty recognize him at all in there? In this second skin he's created that fits so badly?

 

( _It's too tight, he can't breathe in it_.)

 

He shouldn't say anything but he does.

 

"It's in my contract. I only have a certain amount of sick days and they're all used up now. My boss was very specific about that."

 

He can see Rusty flinch at the words. Contract. Boss.

 

( _Yeah_.)

 

For the second time in the last forty-two hours he's being held, tight and close. Always a little too close. But Rusty is exactly what he needs right now.

 

Danny rests his head on Rusty's shoulder and exhales sharply, shaky sob pressed against the tanned skin ( _and he should ask about that, but doesn't trust himself not to get involved_ ) of Rusty's neck. He wants to let go, cut his puppet strings and be a real boy again. He wants and needs and he's not sure what fits where and maybe watercolor wasn't such a good idea for his big picture afterall because what the fuck is he doing here.

 

Rusty's fingers touch his shoulders gently, familiar, and, okay, yeah. He knows how this part fits.

 

XXX

 

Their goodbye is brief. Rusty hugs him again and Danny finds his hands curled into the fists, twisted into the familiar texture of silk.

 

He doesn't have words for what it smells like.

 

( _Escape?_ )

 

Rusty tries to pull away but Danny doesn't let go just yet. Because he needs this, always too close, right? When Danny finally lets go--in this airport where he arrived so half-full and now he's back, clinging to the only person that makes sense, trying to remember when he started thinking half-empty--and steps back, he tries to say _thank you_. Rusty gives him a small smile edged with sadness. But his eyes are guarded and Danny thinks maybe he said something else by accident.

 

Danny thinks about it all the way back.

 

XXX

 

He comes home too late and more then a little drunk, sometimes.

 

The house is the only one on the block completely lit up. Tess is rearranging. Hands smeared with paint, hair in disarray and nose scrunched the way it always is when she's trying hard to understand something. Another time, another place he would've-

 

But this is here; this is now.

 

"It just doesn't work," She whispers looking at the lime green walls but he knows. Yeah, it doesn't. It isn't. Could it ever?

 

Danny says nothing.

 

XXX

 

The phone is ringing. Again.

 

Tess isn't home yet, decided to work late from the office at the gallery most likely, and the ringing is shrill and cuts right through the movie. Danny lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, surfacing from the depths of the story. Sometimes he likes to drown in them until his eyes blur and when he falls asleep his dreams are somebody else's. This movie he's seen a hundred times, probably less, but maybe more. And still, the ending always gets him.

 

The phone rings, completely disregarding Ingrid's tearful, heartbreaking farewell.

 

For some reason he picks up. Fate guiding his hand? As if he needs the help; there is only one way this could end.

 

"Hello?"

 

"Hey, Danny."

 

And in the background two friends walk off into the fog.

 

(" _Hey, Rusty_.")


End file.
